


How To Survive A Haunted House: 101

by Faerie_Fable



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), M/M, Original Character-centric, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerie_Fable/pseuds/Faerie_Fable
Summary: After Morgana joined the Marines to get away from her mob life, the daughter of a Russian mob boss and sister in law to a Mafia lord, she came home pretty fucking broken. Discharged with full honours and then shoved back into civilian life, she's desperate to avoid going back to a life of crime.She does the only thing she can.Moves into the haunted house left to her by an in-law, joins the Happy Hotel program and tries to pretend she's okay.(Trigger warnings for graphic violence in later chapters, rape scenes, child death, family/domestic abuse and more to be added later)
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie, Cherri Bomb/Original Non Binary Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 10





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mygaythoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mygaythoughts/gifts).



She was opening the door to her new place, hands still shaking, keys left in the door handle where she couldn't drop them while she took the first few steps in. Her prosthetic leg made a hollow sounding thunk on the wooden floors, dust rising up in swirls around her whole she dragged the suitcase behind her. She left the door open, staring around the old house she'd inherited with a mirthful grin, eyes as empty as the pill bottles in her pockets.

"Looks like yer about as loving as I am, huh?" She asked the empty room, voice low and raspy before she cleared it with a dull chuckle. "We can be cold and empty together" she joked, running one of her gloved hands over the handrail for the spiral staircase on her way to the kitchen. 

She flicked a light switch with a thoughtful hum, peering around the dark kitchen as the lights slowly lit up, globes warming bit by bit, though the one nearest the backdoor blew, light suddenly flicking all the way up before it exploded, glass shattering with a loud crashing noise that had her hands up to her ears before she crashed to her knees with a shout.

She was shaking head to toe when Scottie raced in, the taller teen searching for her after hearing what sounded to them like a panicked scream.

"It wasn't a mine, just an old lightbulb giving up" she said with a shaky laugh, picking herself up off the floor, petrified blue eyes avoiding worried green eyes. Neither saw the spectre in corner, watching them with distrustful eyes and a soft scowl on their lips at the thought of sharing their home with the living.

He turned his eyes up, glaring at a light to try and scare these two trespassers out, but instead the woman laughed, shaking hands pushing red hair out of her face, determination writ across her cold blue eyes when another light exploded.

"You don't have to live here" the teen whispered, landing two large hands on her shoulders, resting them there so they could smile down at her.

"I ain't goin' back t'Henroin or t'ma Da, and I ain't gon' burden you and Cher, don't worry Scottie, I ain't gon' let a house scare me more'n those demons I call family do"

"You wouldn't be a burden Moggy, you know that" they said, ducking their head low, slouching more than usual to look her in the eye. "Please tell me there's more than booze in your suitcase?" They added, wincing when they heard the telltale clink of glass when the suitcase bumped against the wall.

"You already gots enough problems wit' sleep, ya don't need mine too" Morgana murmured, lifting her hand up to rest on their shoulder too, thumb brushing across the strap of a binder through their plaid shirt. 

"I only packed two bottles, the rest is clothes and toiletries' she paused, thinking for a moment, "some MRE's, phone charger and a sleeping bag" she finished with a grin before she checked her watch, grin turning cheeky as she held up the face for Scottie to see.

"Now ya gotta git goin', yer gonna miss your date with Cherri"

The Ghost in the corner had crossed his arms, glowering when she hadn't reacted, but now, as she spun around, her left side visible he could see the scarring, her missing ear. He recognised burns, third degree at least and felt his jaw fall open as he watched her usher the tall teen out. He followed, slipping around the corner to watch her wave, watch as what little light in her eyes dimmed, as the shakes in her hands came back and then as she seemed to fold in on herself, hiding in her oversized hoodie like it was a shield against the world.

She felt her smile break apart after Scottie left and then she removed the keys from the door handle, pocketing them before letting the door creak and click closed. 

She stood in the empty foyer, silent as the old house while she dug through her pockets for the joint and her lighter, the pain from her nonexistent leg having flared up. The Ghost watching her felt his sour mood turning worse as she lit up, sneering distastefully at the smell. He followed her through the house, confused by the strange sound one of her shoes made before he looked down, realizing with a strangely tight feeling in his chest that one of her shoes was actually a prosthetic, the strange sound coming from it thudding against the old wooden floors.

He felt himself pause when she spoke though, what anger he had at her dissipating for the time being as she gently caressed a wall, whispering to herself or to the house itself. "Ye've been left t'yerself so long, all alone haven't ya? But ya got good in yer bones"

The soft way she spoke, like she was the ghost not him, voice low and reverent, sent chills through him. He huffed, crossing his arms before darting through her to the stairs and up to the attic to think, ignoring for now the flash of warmth, heat surging through his body from the contact with someone living.

While she shivered, arms wrapping around herself once more as chills and cold surged through her and out if the corner of her eye she thought for a moment she saw someone running up the stairs.

"It's probably just the painkillers, but I could swear yer haunted Darlin" she mumbled, forcing herself to straighten up, smiling sardonically at the house as she ran a hand over where a picture used to hang. Her steps were slow, pausing every now and then to carefully inspect patches of wallpaper that were peeling off on her way to the kitchen. 

Her suitcase felt heavier than she remembered, but with a nonchalant shrug she still dragged it through to the staircase.

She looked up the stairs, joint dangling from her lips before she straightened, taking a large inhale of the acrid smoke, she waited until the pain in her limbs had lessened, until she felt almost floaty before beginning the march up the stairs, suitcase thumping loudly on every step. She didn't go higher than the first flight if stairs, merely pushed a door open and shoved her suitcase through before following. 

This was  _ the _ room.

Her grin was bright, lighting up her dull blue eyes, lifting the corners of her lips and warming her whole complexion as she limped closer to the window that overlooked the backyard, one hand grabbing the handle for the suitcase to drag it behind her faster. She knelt on the window seat, looking down at the yard. She could see bones of something poking out from under a bush, a crow still picking them clean. She felt a giggle well up from her lips at the sight of all that space, spread out below her like a painting.

She spun, bouncing on the old cushions, taking another long, slow pull of her joint while she knocked her suitcase over so she could open it without everything spilling everywhere.

When the ghost came in, curious to know where the intruder was, he found her sitting on the floor, prosthetic beside her, blueprints for the house spread out before her and a sketchbook in her hands, copying the layout almost perfectly with a chewed up pencil. He watched as she paused, the end of the pencil up in her mouth to get chewed on again while she mumbled to herself, words slurred and muffled.

"The bathrooms and kitchen first, then all the walls and ceilings, redo the wiring and fix all the plumbing, upgrade the heating and then sand, stain and polish all the floors" she was muttering, her voice low and thoughtful before rising in pitch as she leaned forwards, bending closer to the blueprints to softly, reverently trace some writing along the top.

"Mr Zinon G Demos, your architectural design skills are amazing" she whispered, and he reeled back, not expecting this living person to know his name, let alone to speak it. Her voice had been reverent, breathless sounding, almost loving even. He shifted closer, and realised she was reading his name on the blueprints. He sighed, crossing his arms and moved to sit opposite her to watch her go back to her redesigns. She wrote on the drawing, labelling rooms and listing what needed doing.

He sneered, tapping one of his fingers against his knee while he watched her. 

He blinked curiously though when she dragged her suitcase over, dumping the sketchbook down beside herself while she pulled out a plain package and began tearing it open. Less than a minute later she was happily tucking into an MRE, carefully keeping her fingers away from the food and the food as far from the blueprints as she could while still leaving the blueprints in her line of sight.

It was actually impressive the way she contorted herself for such a task.

He sat across from her, glaring spitefully at this noisy intruder, wanting nothing more than for her to go to so he could go to sleep. He watched her eat, tapping his fingers against his knees while she looked around the room, big, curious blue eyes glazed surreptitiously around her, taking in the cracked wallpaper, assessing the damages. At one point she stared right at him, squinting softly before her gaze lost focus, eyes flicking away as if he weren't there. 

Though he really wasn't. Just a ghost, watching a living person trespass in his home, his resting place. He felt almost disappointed when he remembered that she couldn't see him, she couldn't know that he was there. He left her to her musings, wandering through his big, old house, muttering to himself about the indignity of having the living in the house he built for his family a few lifetimes ago now. So far blowing lightbulbs hadn't been enough to scare her away, maybe there were other ways?

Ectoplasm in all the cupboards and dripping from the vents? Maybe scratching on the doors whenever she closes them… maybe bring bones from the dead animals in the garden in and hide them in her bags? His mind whirrs to life with thoughts, a grin overtaking his features as he stalks through the house, already planning all the ways to scare this wretched mortal woman out.


	2. Stop Changing My Home!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zinon the ghost hates Morgana the mortal and she just keeps making it worse.

She hadn't reacted to the bones at all like he'd expected. She'd stared, blinked slowly, looked down at her hands and then asked herself how drunk she was the night before. 

Nothing had worked. 

To make matters worse though, she hadn't waited more than a day to start doing the "repairs". She'd started with the kitchen, pulling cabinet doors off with small hums and thoughtful little frowns, wrapping the fronts in cardboard before stacking them neatly to the side before just ripping the rest of the kitchen out. His screams of rage were drowned out by music blasted from her phone, a bass Laine so heavy it set the ghosts teeth on edge. 

Zinon was pissed off.

She'd been there for a week, living off MRE's disappearing for a few hours every morning, returning sweaty and high and then throwing herself into destroying the house he'd designed and had built for his family. 

He'd walked into his empty kitchen, looked around at the barren walls while she yelled along to some song, voice too rough to be singing and disappeared to the attic to mourn. He stayed there for two days, picturing killing this woman, this beastly creature that dared to ruin the only thing he had left. He'd ignored her panicked screams, always so sharp and then choked off as suddenly as they started since day one, but during his self imposed exile into the attic he'd found it harder to ignore them. 

She was infuriating.

He'd heard voices though when he finally descended, walking into the kitchen to stop and stare, mouth falling open when he saw the cabinets, his cabinets, sanded and re-varnished, back to their original beauty, identical to the day they'd been installed back in the thirties. He traced the edge of a marble benchtop, appreciating the solid build, the new double sink and single tap with a weird lever, the stone floors polished and shining. It was different, but so familiar and for a moment, just a moment, he let himself imagine his daughter sitting at the breakfast counter eating toast, telling him all about her plans for school that day.

His sad smile turned into a disgruntled glare as that vile creature who lived there now entered, leading two younger adults behind her, chatting quietly, a tired, shadowed grin with dull eyes on her pale face. "The only thing needed in the kitchen is a light and some wiring" she admitted with a dry chuckle, arms wrapped tight around herself, gloved hands gripping her sides tightly while she eyed the room. 

He sat on the bench just to spite her.

She leaned against the counter, her back to him, that horrifying, gruesome scar all he could see, the burn starting somewhere down her neck, stretching halfway up her skull, her ear gone, skin mottled and angry looking, no hair growing on that side of her head anymore. He leaned forward to inspect it, reaching out with his aethereal hands and watched as her skin reacted to the cold of him while his hands suddenly burst with warmth.

He stroked translucent fingers over the scar, tracing its shape, asking himself aloud how it happened and watched her shiver, leaning surreptitiously away from the sudden chills. One of her gloved hands rose to delicately rub at what looked like a still sensitive wound before flicking the hood of her strange, oversized jacket up to cover her head again. 

His expression after that resembled a petulant child, told to take their hand out of the cookie jar.

He watched them talk, the way they hunched in on themself, arms crossed as if to hold broken pieces together and listened to the strain in their voice. He glared up at one of the lightbulbs until it fizzed and burst, smirking spitefully to himself when she flinched. He felt guilty though when he saw just how shaken she was though, blue eyes staring a head, hands over her ears, digging into the hood if her jacket as if to squish her head while she shook.

"Moggy?!" The taller of the three called, quickly rushing to her side, pulling her left hand away from her head while the other woman, a blonde rushed to Morganas' other side, pulling a gun out of the redheads picket before backing off across the room, gun hidden poorly behind her back.

"Come on, let's get you out of the house for a bit, coffee or some shit" Scottie suggested, already beginning to pull the panicked woman towards the front room.

"Cherri, can you grab her phone and keys?" Scottie called, "and hide her gun in her bag or something?"

"Can do" the blonde bombshell yelled back, already heading towards the stairs, jogging slowly. Zinon followed her, watching curiously as she dug through the suitcase for a wallet, spotted some papers and pocketed them before taking the phone off charge, shoving it into her cleavage before darting from the room, running right past him. He watched them all leave with a grin, wondering if maybe now that vile trespasser would understand that she wasn't welcome in his house.

His hopes were crushed when they returned that evening, grins on all their faces, pickup truck parked on the dead lawn, trailer loaded and covered with a tarp just as the sun slipped behind the hills, casting the world in twilight. They piled out of the front seats, all three of them laughing as they stretched their legs while he watched from the windows as two of them grabbed boxes from the back of the truck while the third began to unhook the tarp from the trailer.

He watched his housemate struggle up the stairs, prosthetic leg nearly tripping her twice, but her smile doesn't dim. He runs from the loungeroom to the foyer to watch the two women practically fall through the front door, giggling excitedly. 

"I can't believe that guy's face when you handed him your leg" Cherri exclaimed, almost dropping the box she was carrying when she burst back into laughter, cackling madly while Morgana shrugged nonchalantly despite the grin stretching across her lips. They didn't step any further into the room, merely stacked their boxes by the front door and hurried back to the car, still laughing together.

He wandered over to the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and a puzzled frown across his lips as they teased Scottie, stubbornly turning their offers for help with the tarp down while they grabbed more boxes. He watched the two ladies carry boxes from the pickup truck into the house, they managed six trips before Scottie managed to wrestle the tarp away with a triumphant holler, scrunching it up to throw in the tray with some curses at the damned things expense.

Even Zinon found himself laughing, shaking his head mirthfully at the display right along with the two women. He crossed his arms with a sneer when he realised he'd laughed, turned around and stomped the three steps to the boxes, looking at the messily written labels and peeling tape. He couldn't read the writing, not sure if it was just really bad handwriting or another language.

He almost jumped out if his nonexistent skin when someone walked through him, their body heat washing through him like a wave as they dumped a box down. 

"So what about that Happy Hotel program you were invited to check out? That lady Charlie seemed pretty nice for a politicians daughter, really eager to get someone else to join her rehab program" Scottie asked, dumping their box down unceremoniously before leading the way back outside to move the heavier items from the trailer.

Morganas' voice carried over the small distance, the red haired veteran shrugging with a thoughtful little hum before beginning to help unload, lifting boxes out of the tray almost effortlessly. 'I dunno' I'll go n'chat wit'em t'morrow" Morgana said with a pained frown, as her limp steadily got stronger, left leg almost giving out under her while she struggled with the stairs.

The Ghost watched impassively as she steadied herself with a low groan of pain, brows furrowed and eyes glazed over. He raised his brow, unsure whether to feel smug or worried when she swayed, dumping the last box hurriedly as soon as she was in and then leant against the wall. Her breaths came in ragged gasps after that, shaking hands searching through her pockets. 

"I refilled your scripts, sit down, take a break" the blonde woman said, rifling through her handbag quickly with one hand before holding out a paper bag. The two women headed for the kitchen together and Zinon followed, brow raised while the red head got seated on the floor, bad leg tucked close so she could pull the prosthetic off.

While the two of them spoke quietly he read the labels on her medication bottles, frowning wider and deeper with every word. He scoffed, glaring at the junkie before storming out if the room, back to the front door to watch Scottie shift the items in the trailer around. When Cherri came out he listened carefully to them talking and watched them unload a fridge, a mattress and a microwave.

Dinner that night was takeaway, they ate, talked and laughed while he paced back and forth and astound them, shouting insults.

Morgana slept in the lounge room that night, passed out on the mattress, large jacket wrapped around her like a cacoon and he found himself watching her, a little taken aback by how peaceful she looked. Until the nightmares started, names whispered under her breath, apologies falling like prayers from her dry lips. He disappeared to the attic before the screams and crying could start, arms wrapped tight around himself the same way hers usually were.

He didn't come down again for nearly a fortnight.

The bathrooms had been replaced, light fittings redone and new bulbs set up, brighter and harder for him to smash. The mattress was gone from the lounge room, it now resided in the room she'd claimed so long ago now.

He found her in the laundry, hopping around on one leg, humming a song he recognised from the twenties while she mopped. He found himself glaring at the room, frown lines deeper than usual as he took in the sight of a fresh countertop, marble to match the kitchen and bathrooms, walls retiled and a strange looking washing machine hooked up to the sink. 

He swore loudly, cursing the red haired floozy for all she was worth before going back to aimlessly wandering around.

He got distracted when he spotted the blue prints, pinned up to a cork board above the fireplace as well as the floor plans she'd drawn. He stared at them for ages, mentally picking them apart, trying to hate the plans even though he agreed with some. It just made him hate her more.

He nearly jumped out of his nonexistent skin when she walked in, a strange phone held to her ear, prosthetic leg once again reattached while she spoke rapidly in Italian. When she switched to a combination of Russian and Italian he felt himself frowning again. He backpedalled hard when she swore loudly in English before practically shouting into the device.

"I'm not doin' any jobs fer'ya Da, and nothing for Anna either, tha' bitch can hire a security team for once, I ain't doin' no mob work fer yas, and ya can tell Henroin I ain't doin' shite fer im' too" she laughed abruptly, the phone getting turned off and shoved deep into her hoodies pockets before she stormed through him into the kitchen.

The flash of heat that ignited his body when she passed through him was too much, filled with her anger. But he felt her anxiety, her fears and had to glance down at his hands just to be sure they weren't shaking like hers had been. 

And then it clicked, Henroin, the name setting off a cascade of sudden memories of his nephews, cousins from his mother's side. Henroin had been just a preteen when Zinon had died, a thick set boy with a glare that made grown men shudder. Perfect heir for the Mafia Family. How did she know his nephew?


End file.
